


Domestic Fluff

by Spitshine



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Begging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spitshine/pseuds/Spitshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Jack shrugged and took a single long step back towards the couch, towards his book, like it didn't matter to him one way or another if he got his dick sucked, like he was doing Brock a favor.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He was doing Brock a favor.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mathildia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/gifts).



> Standard warnings for mathildia's R/R(/R) 'verse apply.
> 
> I blame everything on [this slightly nsfw gif set](http://the-knitter-soldier.tumblr.com/post/138492240417/lustbox-men-drill-my-hole-johnny-and-the).

Brock dared a glance over at Jack. The man was sprawled across the couch, one dirty boot on the armrest, one leg splayed lazily across the floor. His nose was in the book propped against his bent knee, _Withering Heights_ or some chick shit. Wasn't even looking at Brock, he probably wouldn't notice—

Brock closed his aching jaw, just for a second, just long enough to swallow against the prickling dryness of his throat and lick his bitten-up lips.

Without looking away from his book, Jack heaved a huge, put upon sigh and flicked his thumb over the screen of his phone, resetting the timer as he turned the page with his other hand.

Brock had been here, kneeling, naked, mouth open, since he'd finished washing up from lunch, when Jack had hooked his two fingers behind Brock's collarbone, pushed the smaller man to the floor—heedless of the drawer pulls pressing sharp into Brock's shoulderblades—and ground his crotch against Brock's cheek. He'd pulled back, a fond, mocking smile on his face, and asked, “You want something, stupid little bitch?”

Brock had nodded, dazed and wide eyed, before he could stop himself.

“I know you do. Strip down and kneel in the living room like the fucking fag hole you are. Mouth open. Yeah, cocksucker, like that. Now just stay still for five minutes and you'll get exactly what you need so bad.”

That had been hours ago. He couldn't see the clock from where he was, but Brock had watched Jack pick up the book and read the first paragraph, had watched the pages go by until he was a quarter through it, then a third, and now he was more than halfway done.

Brock steeled himself. He could do this. He did harder shit in the field almost every day, for chrissakes. He ignored the pain in his knees and drew in a deep breath, letting his jaw go slack but keeping his eyes fixed on Jack—the timer had been reset three times already just for his eyes wandering.

He breathed and thought about his posture. Kept his gaze forward but let his focus go. It was just another mission. He could do this.

He breathed, and breathed, and breathed, until the quasi-melodic chime of the alarm broke his focus and he startled back, almost losing his balance.

He righted himself and Jack was right there, his big boots and his worn Levis filling Brock's vision. Jack's big hand came up to rest against his cheek and he sagged against it, weak for the touch and hating himself for it.

“Your mouth looks even more faggoty than usual. Red. Wet. You need something in there, don't you?”

Brock nodded, a sound he refused to call a whimper falling from his still-open mouth.

Jack's thumb pressed firmly just below Brock's bottom lip. “Ask nicely, cocksucker.”

A cold tingle ran up Brock's spine; he jerked back and stared up at Jack, horrified, muscles going tense, back painful and tight. It was a thing Jack told him about, sometimes, in a low dirty whisper as he pushed Brock's face into the sheets, how he'd make Brock so desperate, so fucking needy, and then not give him any dick until he owned up to what he wanted... but Brock never thought Jack would do it. He knew that this, this thing they did, it wasn't the kind of thing Brock would talk about. Admit to.

But Jack's face above him was set and serious.

“I can't... I can't do that.”

Jack shrugged and took a single long step back towards the couch, towards his book, like it didn't matter to him one way or another if he got his dick sucked, like he was doing Brock a favor.

He was doing Brock a favor.

“Wait. I. I want that.”

“You what now?”

“I want to do that... thing that you said.”

Jack looked back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I hope you know that ain't hardly a question, nevermind nice.”

Brock licked his bottom lip, swallowed. He knew Jack wasn't bluffing. “Can I blow you?”

Jack turned around all the way. “What's the magic word?”

“Can I please blow you?” He hoped he didn't sound as whiny as he felt.

Another step closer, boots thunking hollow and loud against the floorboards. “Getting close, you dumb cunt. What do you call me?” Another step. Brock craned his neck to see past Jack's big thighs, his big everything, up to his face. He didn't know what to say, didn't know how to admit he was stumped. Jack must've seen it on his face, though, because he just chuckled meanly and added, “What do you call your CO, needy bitch?”

“Can I please blow you, sir?” The words came a little easier, the third time around, but they were still thick in his throat, hard to force out. The burning prickle of shame ran from his cheeks to his groin, crawling under his skin, tingling when it hit his raw lips.

“Better, better. But I'm not real fond of your phrasing. 'Blow you.' Not exactly specific, feel me?”

Brock nodded, just the tiniest bit. Swallowed once, twice, licked his lips. “Please, sir, can I suck your cock?”

“Oh, look at you.” Jack's hand cupped his whole face, rough and warm. “That's nice, that's real nice. Look at you bein' so sweet,” he cooed, slipping one finger into Brock's waiting mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Do what you want, but I like to think this is the first time Jack ever got Brock to use his big kid words and ask for what he ~~wants~~ needs.


End file.
